Fading out
by PerfumedRose
Summary: This is a companion piece for 'Fade to Black'. This deals with the aftermath of Mycroft's death.
1. Chapter 1

**Fading out**

Note to the reader, this is the companion piece to 'Fade to black', I've decided to add more to the story, and it didn't want to leave me. I wanted more, so I wrote more. This piece deals with the after effects of Mycroft's death, the reactions off several people.

Unless you haven't read 'fade to black' this won't make a lot of sense.

Note: Panacea: A solution for all problems

 **Chapter one**

 **Step by step**

The room was bare, except for the table in the middle, the lamp in the corner and two chairs one opposite sides of the table. One side of the room was covered in glass, it was one way glass. The glass you used in interrogations. To door opened and two people stepped in closing the door behind them. Mycroft Holmes moved to one end and Lady Smallwood to the other, she looked to the glass and gave a small nod. The interview is being recorded.

Mycroft sat down, he was wearing a pair of black slacks, and a pale green button down shirt and his black suit jacket, there was no umbrella and no waistcoat. Lady Smallwood was impeccably dressed as always, ready for action.

The atmosphere was sombre, their actions precise.

"Do you want something to drink Mycroft?" Lady Smallwood's asked softly, Mycroft shook his head. He looked around the room and recognized, it was the same one, they had Jim Moriarty in all those years ago, when he scratched Sherlock's name on the glass. Ironic.

"No thank you."

"You know why we are here?"

"Yes. We are here to record the mission, the plan, the effects and my last wishes. We are also here to record my temporary reinstatement in my post, to allow my security clearance to be increased to its previous level, which was unlimited, to inform me about my mission, my last mission." Mycroft uttered the words in a flat tone, as if he was reading the weather report, instead of talking about his life, about the suicide mission, about the fact that they are discussion his death. She swallowed and nodded, sitting down opposite him, her chair was more to the left, so that the camera had an open view to Mycroft.

Lady Smallwood opened one of the several files on the table and handed Mycroft two key cards.

"I, Alecia Smallwood, codename 'Love' hereby reinstate Mycroft Holmes, codename 'Antarctica' to his previous security level of unrestricted and unlimited access. This is temporary instatement for the sole purpose of Operation Panacea…" Mycroft only listened with half an ear, he knows the drill, and he knows the words, he himself have drawn up the procedure document, strange how all the procedures and protocol, he, implemented is now being used on him. He would've laughed at that, if he had the energy or the humour. Irony; a joke in itself. He picked up the two key cards and placed it in his inner pocket, in some way it felt strange to have it back, he may not have lost it so long ago, but still he felt the effects for a long time. It rippled into every aspect of his life.

She went on about the mission, his suicide mission and nodded and 'hmm' and 'yes' in all the right places. They have gone over this previously, when he made the decision while sitting in her office. This was just for the record. His eyes glanced over to the glass, knowing that behind that glass was Alecia's assistant keeping watch on the camera, making sure there are no interference and no tampering. Lady Smallwood promised him that she would take Anthea on under her wing, which she did, Anthea is currently in training to learn all Lady Smallwood's routine, her way of doing things before she officially starts under her. He hasn't seen her; he is not allowed to have any contact with her. It is also one of his protocols, and he really hated that one now.

When she was done, he had to sign the necessary documents. He kept his hold on the pen as he slid the documents over to her, she checked everything is in order put it in the file, tied the ribbon around it and stamped the big old red and bold letters of 'Top Secret' on it

He sighed; it was done now, no turning back. He licked his lips and sat back in the chair, with that gone; it was just the few minor things now. He asked her to be the executioner on his last will and testament so next on the list was that.

"You informed me that you already set up a new Trust in your brother's name, Sherlock Holmes with his share of the family Trust."

"That's correct." Mycroft nodded.

"You also added the name of Dr John Watson and his daughter Rosamund Watson."

"Yes."

"Mycroft…" Alecia started her voice losing that hard edge that she used to conduct this meeting so far.

"He is family, apparently." Mycroft stated, adding the apparently as an afterthought, his eyes staring at something in the corner.

"So are you."

"I'm nothing." Mycroft voice was sharp and to the point. With a sigh she moved on the next set of documents.

"You have split your share in half, with 50% being placed in a separate account for Miss Andrea Brightmann."

"She deserves it." Mycroft face visibly relaxed and a small smile formed around his lips. He looked at her.

"I have not always been the best person to look after, this is recorded as well, tell her, or show her this, I cared for her, I didn't show it the way I was supposed to, but tell her I'm sorry for all of this, she didn't deserve it, not for all her loyalty and hard work and dedication, I know the money will never make up for it, she needs to know that she was one of the most valuable people I ever met, and it was an honour to serve with her."

Lady Smallwood nodded; she didn't trust herself to speak after that. Mycroft has shown more emotion in the past few weeks, than she has ever seen in all their years of working together. Clearing her throat she moved on to the next part.

"The other half of 50% is left to Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade of Scotland Yard."

"Yes." Here Mycroft leaned closer his body relaxing.

"Did you know he was the first person in more than fifteen years to actually respect my brother? To listen to him? Not because Sherlock demanded it – he always demands and audience – but because he valued my brother? I thought he was idiot, I even told him that, he just laughed at me, and said "It's okay, we're all idiots in this world" then he made sure my brother didn't die as he was throwing his lungs out in his apartment, the only place that was successful in getting him clean and to detox. No hospital or rehab centre, no wellness clinic of Life centre, the detective's apartment. He never asked for anything back, can you imagine that Alecia? We, who on a daily basis year in and year out deals with people with a hidden agenda, with negotiations and here this man steps in and didn't want anything, he wouldn't even allow me to replace the carpet Sherlock ruined in an experiment. What man is that? How does a man like that even exist?" The room was silent after that outburst, Mycroft's voice increased and Alecia thought he might even get up and paced the floor. He took a breath and looked at the documents.

"Make him accept this, I wish I knew how to give him my endless gratitude for saving and helping my little brother, but I'm the ice-man, I don't know how."

Lady Smallwood didn't even think twice, she reached out and took hold of Mycroft's; his hand was cold in hers.

"You are not as cold as you think you are."

Mycroft just smiled in response.

"I mean it Mycroft! What your family did to you was horrible."

Mycroft was startled and confused.

"What they did to me? They didn't do anything to me."

"They did! You were just a boy yourself and you were forced to be the grown-up of the entire family."

"I wasn't the grow-up, uncle Rudy was."

"The hell with Rudolph, he forced you to make the hard decisions, he forced you to be the adult one, it should've been your parents, where were they when your sister tried to kill Sherlock? Where were they when she burned the house down? They should've taken control of the situation, be the parents and made the hard choice, but no, it was left to you. You had to watch your sister become a killer at that young age, you had to watch your brother deleting his childhood memories – with you in it and the love and admiration he had for you – you had to watch your parents pretend nothing is wrong as they moved on with their lives, telling people they only had two children. You had to bear it all, and even now… they still blame you and you…"

"Alecia…" Mycroft tried to interrupt standing up, but she actually jumped up in her chair.

"Shut up, I'm talking now."

Mycroft mouth fell open in shock as he stood there staring at her, his hands by his side. As she talked she started crying.

"And now, I have to watch how you kill yourself, trying to atone for sins that are not yours to carry, to fix problems, that weren't yours to begin with. Yes England will lose a brilliant mind, but I'm losing a colleague, a friend in a feeble attempt to redeem himself, when he hasn't sinned in the first place!" The room was silent and both were staring at each other, Mycroft slowly stepped to her, as she wiped her eyes.

"I'm sorry Mycroft, I didn't mean to lose control like that, I just…I wish…"

Mycroft stood in front of her and for the first time in years he did something on impulse, he hugged her. She buried her head in his shoulder as she cried all over again. Mycroft's eyes were red rimmed as well, he was losing his composure too, it was the first time in many years, that someone took his side, that someone understood what happened and didn't blame him. He didn't had to explain himself, or his decisions, she knew it all and still understand his position, not the suicide and redeeming part, the part where he was force to grow up before it was time. To be the grown-up when everything around him was falling apart.

When they finally pulled apart he turned to her.

"I have one more favour to ask."

"Anything."

"Please tell Sherlock in person, he doesn't deserve to hear it over the phone."

"I will." She softly replied, Mycroft smiled, there's not much he could do now.

He stepped back, moving to the door; Lady Smallwood stopped him by grabbing his shoulder.

"Will you see him before you go?"

Mycroft sighed then slowly shook his head.

"No, I saw him yesterday, my parents too, and Euros, I don't think I can face them, him, again, besides he is busy with his family."

"You are his family."

"He prefers the family he chose, not the one he was born into." Before she could say anything Mycroft opened the door and left, the door closing softly behind him, leaving him alone with her thoughts.

 _Note: Nina Torelli gave me a beautiful review and I wished I could tell you how much I agree with Nina and your words. I hope you don't mind but I used a thought you had that he was the grown-up in the family, which he was, he was forced into that roll, and yet he gets blamed and the waves of hatred from everyone. It makes me furious and if I was harder on his parents, his brother, John and Mrs Hudson, it is because I'm angry with them, I lost my respect for them and I blame them._

 _I will eventually forgive them, but right now? Still angry_


	2. Chapter 2

**Fading out**

First reaction is Lady Smallwood; after all, she was the one he called, the one with satellite images all over the world, the one who would watch his death.

Hell I'm making myself sad.

 **Ripples in a stream**

 **Lady Smallwood**

The screens were on, the satellite images focus on the town Karbala; two government cars were slowly making their way down the street. Lady Smallwood eyes were glued to the screens, her eyes pooled with unshed tears, her phone next to her ear.

"I know. It was a pleasure working with you Alecia." She closed her eyes, trying to memorise the sound of Mycroft's voice in her mind, this would be the last thing he would ever say to her, her voice was soft, trembling when she replied.

"You too."

There was so much she wanted to say but there was a moment of silence and then line went dead. She lowered her hand the same time her other hand rise to close over her mouth, trying to steady her breaths. She opened her eyes to watch the screen, holding her breath for the inevitable that is about to happen. He said five minutes, her breath was shallow, her adrenaline levels high as it rushed through her veins, and she wanted to yell, to scream for someone to stop this, for another way.

It didn't happen.

The first explosion was a bright light on the screen and she gasped the fire high in the air, she could see the people around screaming and running all over the place but her eyes were glued on the car behind. The back door opened and she felt a stab of hope. Yes! Mycroft is running away, he is going to make it. She watches as he dragged the driver to the side.

"Come on Mycroft, stay there, please…please…don't go back." She whispered the words softly, begging him to stay back but he didn't, she watches as he turned back to his car, coming halfway when that car exploded. She couldn't stop the "No!" from escaping her lips as she saw the force lifting Mycroft off his feet and threw him on the ground several meters away. Even through the pixels, the black and white screen, she saw his chest turning darker, the dark black pool underneath his body and then it stopped moving. A tear ran down her cheek, it was over. Mycroft was dead. She turned around and her eyes widen. Anthea was standing behind her, tears running down her face as her body shook, not a sound came out. Their eyes caught each other, the feelings the same, they are mourning for one of the greatest man they have ever met. Lady Smallwood took a deep breath and walked towards her.

"Take a few minutes, I'll be in the bathroom, taking mine, as many as you need, come to my office and we can make…..we need…too…" Her voice broke, they need to make arrangements, his body, and the after effect and then….she needs to inform Sherlock. Anthea nodded.

"Yes…sir…ma'am." Without waiting for an answer she left the room, Alecia following a few steps behind. It was the worst day in their lives.

 **Anthea**

Anthea hardly closed the cubicle behind her before she fell down her knees, her sobs racking through her body. She clutched her chest tight but it didn't help, the aching, the sorrow was ripping through her, the sobs loud in the silence. He was dead, her mentor, her boss, her friend. They were colleagues for several years and she knew that he cared, he tried so hard not to show it, but it did, they both knew it did.

Everything was going well, and then Sherlock happened. Sherlock and John and their little hide and seek game in his house and it all went pear-shaped. She knew something was going to happen one day, she just didn't expect it like this. She protected him, she saved him multiple times from assassins, poisons, attacks so many things, but she couldn't save him from himself. She tried to do what she could about Sherringford, about Euros, about keeping Mycroft's name clean and out of it, but she failed, he lost everything and she was reassigned, she couldn't see him, she couldn't talk to him, she couldn't explain that she tried, she really did, and it was all for nothing. Lady Smallwood told her in the week that she was to work with her now, that Mycroft requested it, and she was happy, doing that for her, in this business was massive. He secured her future, he secured her place in the chain of events, and she couldn't even say thank you.

She was unsure of how long she sat there when she finally got up, her legs were numb, but it was okay, because she was numb too. She took all of fifteen minutes to make herself presentable again. She was still trying to steady her breaths as she made her way to Lady Smallwood's office, she knows exactly where it is, all of them, and her routine. She can start right away. She knocked on the door and when she received the 'come in' went in. Lady Smallwood was sitting behind her desk, her eyes still red and puffy, she didn't even try to hide it or compose herself. Lady Smallwood saw her look and smiled.

"We will be working close together and Mycroft assured me of your loyalty and trust, so I'm really not going to try and keep my composure, I can't, not now, and I need to discuss a few things with you."

"I've been debriefed on all open investigations…"

"It's personal, I know you can start immediately, I need to show you some documents, and a recording. This is to do with Mycroft's lass Will and Testament and the interview we had a few days ago, I'm going to show you the whole thing, not parts, because I trust you, and you deserve to know everything." Anthea frowned slightly before she nodded and sat down. Lady Smallwood pressed a button and the interview started to play, they had in the room. She watched her eyes wide as he talked, a new wave of tears as she listened as he gave her half of everything he owned, he owned a lot, she basically never has to work again, and on top of that the trust he put in her. The faith in her abilities, the fact that he trusted her more than the people he worked with, she can never be angry with him. She agreed with Lady Smallwood when she went off at him, trying to redeem him for other's mistake. A new found respect bubbled in her for Lady Smallwood, she will do everything in her power to make sure she keeps her safe; they will be a great team.

When the video was done and she looked at the documents she was still crying. So was Lady Smallwood, she handed Anthea a tissue.

"My dear, I know this time ahead is going to be rough and we will have some hard times, but I know we can do it, I've already arranged for the retrieval of the….of Mr…of Mycroft's body, and the arrangement in regard to the ambassador, and the president, the only thing left now is to go and tell Sherlock, do you want to come along or wait here?"

The last thing she wanted to do was to see Sherlock, not for a long time, however she had a new duty.

"I'll come with you, if it is okay, may I wait in the car?"

"Yes. Of course."

Together they stood up and made their way to the car. They got in and Lady Smallwood looked at the driver.

"Baker Street."


	3. Chapter 3

**Fading out**

 **The reptile who kept him together**

 **Mrs. Hudson**

She was busy; her whole apartment is being renovated and repaired. The explosion was in one area, but little cracks appeared all over the house, and since Mycroft is paying she decided to fix everything, a whole remodelling, the step outside to the bins was needing a coat of paint, so she put that on the list, oh new bins too, recycling is the new crave according to the telly.

The window in the kitchen was cracked from years ago, so that might as well be fixed. Yes, he can pay. Always meddling around, trying to squeeze him into his brother's life.

Today was a good day, the men fixed a lot in one day, and soon the place would be brand spanking new. She should probably thank him the next time she sees him, not only for the repairs, but saving her life as well. She was quite impressed with how quickly Mycroft could move, granted at the moment she was too upset about the explosion and about her boys to pay attention to him. The last time she properly spoke to him, she called him a reptile and chased her out of her house. Then she so rudely offered him tea, just to irritate him, well he was irritating to her, meddling in her boys life. Of course he had no idea why Sherlock would relapse, it was John, it would always be John, but no, he couldn't see, the reptile doesn't understand human emotions or the workings of the heart.

The doorbell broke through her reverie and she went to open the door, there's no way it could be a client this time of day.

"Hello?" She opened the door to see the familiar black car, but her resentment was short lived to see that it wasn't him, it was Lady Smallwood. She looked over her shoulder to see the door close and frowned, that woman waiting inside the car; it was the one always following Mycroft. Lady Smallwood addressed her in a clipped tone.

"Good evening Mrs Hudson, is Sherlock here?"

She nodded and without waiting for an invitation she stepped in passed her and into the foyer. Something was wrong, something seriously is wrong, closing the door she moved up the stairs, going as fast as her hips allowed her, Lady Smallwood following her softly. Her boys was in the living room, Rosie was sleeping. John looked at her as she entered and she saw the smile falter on his lips. Before either could say anything Sherlock broke the silence with a loud cry. She jumped in shock at his loud bellowing voice. John tried to tell him to be quiet, Rosie is sleeping but Sherlock ignored him and walked towards Lady Smallwood.

The look in his eyes, the pain on his face was so evident that Mrs Hudson took a step back, her hands covering her mouth as it fell open, what could hurt her boy so much? She watch as Sherlock stepped closer to Lady Smallwood and she would've stepped back in fear but Lady Smallwood didn't move, not an inch. He repeated the declaration of unbelief when he stormed to his room, the door slamming behind him. She looks at Lady Smallwood then back to John, he was just as confused and perplexed as she was. She saw him take his military position before turning talking.

"What happened?" Bloody good question, ask her John.

"Mycroft Holmes died today." If she was holding a cup, it would've shattered to the floor, just like her sanity in that moment. Dead? That is impossible. Trying to get her mouth to work she turned to Lady Smallwood, who ignored them both before turning around and walking out. Finding her legs, Mrs Hudson followed her down at the door she stopped her.

"What do you mean? He is Mycroft Holmes, the man who doesn't feel." Lady Smallwood eyes flashed in anger.

"Mycroft Holmes was more feeling in his entire life, than you are in this moment. He was killed this afternoon by a car bomb, and the man who didn't feel, felt enough when he paid for the renovations on this flat multiple times, he felt enough when he kept you from being arrested for your reckless driving in a suburb, he felt enough to risk his life to save yours from an explosion, and he damn well felt enough when you insulted and belittled him every opportunity you could find. Now excuse me." Mrs Hudson stared at her as she turned around and walked out, closing the door behind her. She didn't know for how long she stood there in the hallway, no one has ever spoken to her like that, not in many, many years, yet it was what she needed to hear. There was silence upstairs, Sherlock hasn't left his room. She slowly turned around and went to her room her mind trying to process what happened.

The next morning she helped John with Rosie, she made breakfast while he fed her, Sherlock refused to eat, he refused to look at either of them. He didn't slept last night, not if the dark circles under his eyes were made by make-up. His eyes were red rimmed and she realised the last time he looked like that, was when he confronted Mary and John in here, when he was shot in the chest. He sat there working the case, helping his friends while slowly going into cardiac arrest. She closed her eyes, he looked like his heart was about to break, in fact it broke last night. A small part of her wished he would look at her, at them but another part wants him not to look at her at all. This young man lost his brother, and the pain and grief is so clear that she can only bow her head in shame, how did they missed the bond between them? Lady Smallwood was right, he always covered for them, not just Sherlock but for her as well, he saved her life and she didn't even say thank you. She chased him out calling him a reptile and he still saved her life.

How are they going to recover from this?


	4. Chapter 4

**Fading out**

" **What goes around comes around"**

 **John**

The way Mrs Hudson looked should've warned him that something was wrong. He sighed mentally, he really hoped it wasn't Mycroft, as much as the two of them are kind of on the same book, not necessarily the page, but the book, he was okay with him. The other day when he was dressed so casual was a bit of shock, but then again Mycroft was Mycroft and he couldn't really be bothered to care.

Then he saw Lady Smallwood, and was surprised, why would she be here? The last time she was here she wanted Sherlock's help with a case. With that man who flicked him in the face, and Sherlock killed, that was over and done with, so no reason to be here again. He stood up, to greet her, when Sherlock's voice cried out.

"NO!" He sharply turned to Sherlock, what the hell is he yelling for? Rosie is just asleep for goodness sake. Sherlock ignored him, the look on his face unreadable, it was scaring John to be honest, he didn't even look like that at the island, the last time he looked like that was before his fall down Bart's. He turned back to Lady Smallwood, who hasn't said a word, she was staring at Sherlock. What the hell was going on? He hoped Mrs Hudson would know but one look at her told him she was must as much in the dark than he was. John watched as Sherlock walked over to her, she didn't flinch or move, Sherlock looked ready to attack. He stared her down, his eyes like lasers on hers, his body vibrating and John was perplexed, what on earth could make Sherlock react this way?

"No." He repeated then spun around and went into his room, the door slamming, he wanted to yell about waking Rosie, to yell at him to tell him what the hell is going on, but he didn't came back out. Looked at Mrs Hudson frightening in the corner, her eyes wide and he took a breath to calm himself, his hands clenched in fists next to him.

"What happened?" his voice was clipped and impatient. Lady Smallwood ignored his anger and took her time before answering.

"Mycroft Holmes died today." The room was deadly quiet, not even a sound was made when she turned around and walked away leaving the two of them in the room, staring at the spot she stood. John and Mrs Hudson turned as one from the spot to each other, their faces mirroring in the shock and confusion that overwhelmed them both. Mycroft? Dead? The British Government? No, it can't be, he was just here the other day, and he was just here being his usual…no wait…he was different… besides the clothes, he had none of that usual arrogance and importance about him, in fact he looked defeated. Sherlock would've seen something, he didn't say anything. _"No buts. Just sign the documents; you didn't want me here in the first place, until I told you this concern Dr. Watson and his daughter too, so let's not pretend you actually care and I won't pretend everything is fine and we are all moving on, so please sign the papers so I can leave."_ Johnremembered those words and back then when it filled him with a sense of pride of achievement of importance over Mycroft in Sherlock's life, now it filled him with anguish. It was so clear, they missed it, he missed it on purpose, and he was too busy to hate Mycroft that he didn't see the truth. Now it was too late.

He sat down in his chair, the strength out of his legs, one part wants to go to Sherlock, the other part desperately wanted to make sense of this, taking a breath he looked up to the documents, the new Trust. His and Sherlock's and Rosie's; no Mycroft. _"Ignore everything he just said, he's being kind, he's trying to make it easy…for me to kill him."_ John closed his eyes as he remembered. Mycroft tried to get his own brother to kill him, so he could live. Now when he thinks back about it, it was actually clear, Mycroft saw what it did to Sherlock to lose his best friend, he couldn't let it happen again. He was so angry with everything back then, with Mary's death, with Sherlock, with Smith, with Mycroft and the whole island, that he was oblivious to what was actually in front of him.

The love, the power and the strength in Mycroft, to sacrifice his entire career and life multiple times over for Sherlock. That was all gone now. He, nor Sherlock or Mrs Hudson would ever see Mycroft Holmes again. Gone is the days where a discreet black car would pick him up, ask him about Sherlock. No more cameras that would follow him as they walk down the street, no more unannounced little visits from Mycroft, trying to irate Sherlock with a little mind game. Rosie would never meet her uncle with the umbrella and the three piece suit.

For some reason that made him sad as he sat there on the sofa, staring ahead, there was no noise from Sherlock's room; he wonders how he is taking it. _"Did he offer you money?" "Yes" Did you take it?" "No." "Shame, we could've split the money."_ Well they're splitting the money now, a whole Trust.

Rosie started crying somewhere in the night and he was occupied with her. Sherlock refused to eat the next morning, he hardly acknowledges them in the room, he ignored Mrs Hudson completely and John knew he was angry with her. With them all, they all made no secret about their dislike for Mycroft, they treated him like crap when he was here, and now that he will never put his feet here in the flat, John knew he would do pretty much anything to change that. Even if it is just to say thank you.

The next day he went with Sherlock to see the body, he read the report, Mycroft was caught in a car bomb, he saw the photos, the scarred flesh and wounds that would never heal.

" _Look after him, please."_

God, how? He had no idea, what he let himself in for, he nodded back then, didn't pay attention, now that Sherlock was missing for a few days, he had no idea where to start looking. Every time he picks up the phone to call Mycroft, to check the cameras, to tell him where to start looking it takes the robotic voice of "The number you've dialled does not exist, please try again" to hammer that nail in the coffin of Mycroft is not there anymore. Ever.

It took everybody, especially John and Mrs Hudson to realise just what the cost of losing Mycroft was, it took for him to die, to realise just how important he was to Sherlock, to know the effect he had on him, to see that Mycroft was one of the main foundations where Sherlock build his perception, his deduction, his Mind Palace on.

He finally found Sherlock the second time he went missing at his brother's grave. He was finally asleep; the tears dry on his face. Next to him were a flower, a single one, and a folded paper. He read the first line, before he broke down in tears since he found out about Mycroft's death. What goes around comes around. He blamed Mycroft; he hated him for meddling in his brother's life, for being his keeper, now he, John Watson is Sherlock's keeper, no he is the one to meddle to keep Sherlock safe.

What goes around comes around, indeed. He sat on his knees next to the huddled figure of Sherlock _. "Look after him please."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Fading out**

" **Sherlock, help me."**

 **Sherlock**

He stared at the phone, a frown on his face; he just had the weirdest phone call with Mycroft in nearly all their lives. What the hell was that about? His brother has been acting so strange lately. No security, no stalking cars, no umbrella, a Trust without him in it, phone call from saying stuff like 'it will all be clear soon' and 'secrets don't stay secret' then the biggest part was practically a love confession, how he was Mycroft's biggest strength and all of that.

Lifting the phone he tried to all again, there was no answer; instead the phone was dead, not even a dialling tone or voicemail, nothing. An unsettling feeling started to form; he was missing something, something big. There is something wrong with Mycroft, ever since that night when he and John played that game in his house. He will not admit the pride when Mycroft called out to him for help. _"Sherlock, help me."_ Those three words etched in his brain and even now, when he is in bed, he hears that. Mycroft thought he was in genuine danger; his life was on the line and the only thing he thought off, was that Sherlock would help. Thinking back he felt bad, he knew Mycroft hated clowns but he thought it would be funny, to get one over Mycroft, after all these years, now, not so much. The fear in his brother's eyes, the truth about their sister, the lengths that Mycroft went to, to ensure his wellbeing, his safety from that. His big brother has been looking out for him, since he was practically born. He and John, should've probably thought of another way to get Mycroft to talk, well it's all in the past now.

Putting the phone in his pocket he looked around. All of this was also thanks to Mycroft, he paid for the repairs, all of it, he should say thanks next time he sees him. His eyes caught the documents, he and John had signed the documents, and their future is secured, even Rosie's. He smiled thinking of the new adventures in front of them, he, John and Rosie, it is going to be great.

Speaking of which, he should go and check to make sure they paint her room the right colour. Running up the stairs, his mind pushed his brother aside for his other family.

He was so busy with the renovations and then John came home with Rosie and it was feeding her, putting her to sleep and then so many other things, that he completely forgot about Mycroft and trying to get in touch again. That all changed when the front doorbell ring. Not thinking much of it, he and John went on with their things until Mrs Hudson entered the room with Lady Smallwood. He stared at her, taking in her appearance but pushing it aside, the fact that she is here, knowing there is no case means only one thing. And he refuses to believe it. It is not true, no, no way.

"NO!" He yelled but didn't care; he could already feel the angst in his body, the adrenalin surging, his mind palace shaking as if it by an earthquake, the walls were shaking and his breath couldn't even out. He walked towards her, she didn't flinch away, he could hear John talking to him but he didn't hear a thing, it was all white noise in his head, in the room around him, consuming him whole. His eyes locked with hers.

"No." He needed to get away; he needed to get away, with a swift turn he nearly ran to his room, slamming the door loudly behind him. The earthquake intensified, shaking him off his feet so he fell to the floor.

No no no no his heart was screaming loudly in his ears, his mind screaming yes it's true. It was loud and noisy and he clasped his hands on his ears, he wanted to scream but not a sound came out, there was a few drops of water on the floor in front of his face, his face was wet, the tears running in silent waves off his face, crushing on the floor like waves crashes against a rock. He never heard the words as she told John and Mrs Hudson in the living room. "Mycroft Holmes died today." He didn't believe it, he won't. Not without a body, Mycroft is a Holmes; they are good with faking deaths in the Holmes family. He wants to see a body, he wants to see it for himself, see how his brother is faking it, and then yell at him for not telling him beforehand.

He didn't sleep or eat, his mind telling him it's true, Mycroft said it will all became clear soon, secrets don't stay secret. The Trust, the lack of government car, of the suit, of the umbrella, the signs were there, just like that night in Mycroft's home, Mycroft was asking Sherlock for help, yelling it loud and clear _"Sherlock, help me"_ but he didn't see it, he didn't hear it. He was so busy fixing his relationship with John, with Euros, with his parents telling him, he was always the grown-up one that he didn't see it, didn't hear it. Now he has no choice but to hear it, he is the grown-up now, he is the older brother now, he is the eldest and that thought is shaking him to his core. He can't do it, its Mycroft's job, he is the mother hen, and he is the caretaker, the planner, the clever one!

Their parents…they still blame Mycroft, and now he is dead…how…what….

He couldn't think, his Mind Palace was shaken, the walls were cracking and he had no idea how to fix it. He was aware of Rosie crying during the night, John feeding her in the morning, John checking up on him. He ignored them all, just a body with no soul, staring ahead. Mrs Hudson tried to get them to eat breakfast but he didn't, he didn't even look at her, she called his brother a reptile without knowing the facts, without knowing the sacrifices he made and now Mycroft is dead.

He remember saying that he wants to see the body, he will not believe it until he sees it, and John must've told Lady Smallwood that, because the next day they were at the morgue, Sherlock still hasn't talked or eaten since he heard the news. He stood rigid in his suit and coat at the morgue, John was standing next to him, his support.

The attendee went to lift the sheet but Sherlock stopped him, he will do it. His fingers were pale and trembling as he lifted the sheet off the body. It was Mycroft, his heart and mind couldn't ignore it any longer, there was no denying that the man on the slab was his brother. The nose pale and strong, the lips thin and blue, the eyes, sunken and closed, his hair dark and auburn against the deathly pale skin, the curl his brother so desperately tried to hide hanging loose.

His chest was covered with cuts and bruises and holes, shrapnel; he was hit by shrapnel from an explosion. He stared. He stared for long time and Mycroft didn't wake up, he didn't open his eyes and went _"Oh Sherlock, didn't you know, all lives end, all hearts are broken. Are yours breaking for me?"_

He didn't know how long he stared, how long they were there; he remembered a few days later he went to his brother's house, alone.

One step in the doorway and he knew, he knew. Mycroft planned this, he planned on dying he planned on suicide but then somehow sacrifice was better. The house was empty, his footsteps echoed in the rooms, down the hallways, he stepped into his brother's room, everything was gone the wardrobes empty, no suits, not products, nothing. The bed was there, but it was stripped bare, even his brother's scent was gone, the house was clean. There were two objects on the bed, both with a sticker; his name was on both, in his brother's handwriting. The beautiful elegant scrip he will never see again, his name, one of the last things his brother had written down. " _Your loss would break my heart."_ Sherlock waved his hand in the air, trying to wave the words away, somehow, more and more of his brother's words were echoing in his mind all loud in the room, in his ears.

A slight layer on dust was on both, his brother trusted umbrella and the family home video, he knew it was the one he and John cut up to frighten Mycroft. It was them at the beach, Mycroft was sitting on a blanket, eating cake and Sherlock tackled him to the ground laughing and smiling. Mycroft put the cake down and hugged Sherlock close. It was one of the only hugs he could ever remember giving his brother out of his own free will, and he remembered how Mycroft held him close, afraid to let go.

Sherlock choked on the memory and dropping the video he ran out, he ran down the stairs, his steps loud and harsh in the house, he ran down the hallway and tripped falling with a thud to the floor. He looked up and saw the painting, the red paint still tainting the family portraits. Sherlock let out a scream. The first one in days, the first loud sound in days, he couldn't stop. He yelled and screamed as loud as he could, till he couldn't scream anymore, his body crumbling on the ground, the tears running down his face. He lost his brother; he lost his brother, the one person who saved him many times over, who was always there even when Sherlock yelled at him. Through doss house to drug den. _"I was there for you once; I'll be there for you again."_ The promise on the plane and he pushed him away, calling a useless brother. _"Sherlock, help me."_ He didn't hear, he didn't hear, he didn't see, it was in front of him, all this time.

"I'm sorry." He uttered through his tears and screams, no one heard him. The house was empty and the portraits had nothing to say.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fading out**

 **Not so limited after all**

 **Parents.**

Mummy Holmes was busy looking through her collection of wool and patterns, she wanted to knit Euros something nice, that white scrubs she is wearing really isn't that nice. And maybe some slippers too. Her eyes wandered around the room, the albums on the shelf, and the new pictures in the frames. Now that Sherlock is aware of Euros and the truth, they no longer have to hide her away. They got their daughter back, her baby girl. Just thinking about it, brought a smile to her face. A dark pink, it would complement her long hair. All her children were born with a great bush of hair, well Mycroft not so much, he is even getting bald in places that are probably his father's side of the family, and Uncle Rudy went bald as well.

As her thoughts went to her eldest, her smile slowly fell from her mouth, what was the boy thinking? How could he do that to them? Rudolph she could understand, he was always different, thinking logically and efficient but Mycroft, that was hard to believe.

He was such a soft young boy, always helpful, always volunteering to look after his brother and sister, Euros ignored him and didn't want to play with him, but Sherlock? Sherlock adored him. Then he met Victor and Mycroft became silent, always keeping himself busy, always alone to the side. That beach holiday he spent more time skipping stones that playing and running around with his brother and sister.

It all went wrong when Victor disappeared, and Euros became so strange and then the fire.

 _"I was trying to be kind."_ That's what he said when the truth came out, he tried to protect them and she called him limited. Thinking back she may have overreacted, but how are you supposed to act when you find out your one child hide the existence of another for so many years? Even if she was ill. And she was; she wouldn't kill just a bunch of people for fun. Oh what is she thinking, feeling her heart break she sat down on the bed, the pink wool clutched in her hand. Her daughter was a killer, just like Mycroft said the other day, her son is a lot of things, but he would never lock someone away if he didn't had a good reason, and that place, what she did at a young age... Maybe he did the best he could, after all, he was young when Rudy took him in, maybe it was his influence that made Mycroft kept the secret. That has to be it.

He looked so broken that day in his office, telling them the secret he kept for nearly all his life, that couldn't be easy. Maybe she should call him, no; she would just get angry all over again. She needed time. Time to process the fact that she has three children again, and not two, that one tried to kill the one, that one is forever locked away, so many things to come to terms with.

 _"Mummy, Father. Will you ever forgive me?"_ He sounded so defeated in that moment and she couldn't give him the answer he needed, he surely knows something like this will take time?

The phone rang in the house and she could hear her husband picking it up, if it is another telesales, she is asking Mycroft to block her phone to the marketing agencies. She stood up and made her way down the hallway, her husband was silent, not sales then. Entering the room she stopped, her husband stood rigid the phone in his hand, his knuckles white as he held the receiver. Something happened, something terrible.

"What is it?" She asked softly, her husband turned to her and she opened her mouth in shock, her husband was crying, silent tears running down his face. Did something happen to Euros? They just got her back? To Sherlock? He is always running around on some adventure.

"Mycroft…" Her heart skipped a beat as she slowly stepped closer to him.

"No…" Her eyes filled with tears, was he hurt, in an accident.

"He's dead."

She stared at her husband, no, this is some kind of sick joke, she just got all her children back, her two sons and her daughter, there is no way she lost one now.

"What…when…how…?" She croaked through her tears, her husband walked to her, holding his arms out to comfort her, but she fought him, no, Mycroft is not dead, he is the dependable one, the one always there! He isn't dead.

But he was.

She fell against his chest, holding him tight.

Sherlock confirmed it two days later, he saw the body. He is dead, her boy, her eldest son was dead, no make believe, no fake, dead as in dead, his body in a coffin underground with a tombstone.

They stayed at John's flat for the funeral, Mycroft's house was empty, Sherlock is very quiet and she didn't know how to reach him, it was with a shock she realized that this is usually the moment where she would get Mycroft involved, he would deal with Sherlock, he would try to talk to Sherlock and get him whatever he needed, but this time he cant. It looks as if Sherlock is keeping something from them, about his death, but she didn't know what it was. But she will figure it out, she knows she will.

Lady Smallwood met with them in her office, explaining more what happened and the arrangements, he wanted a very small funeral, in fact he said it would be feasible if no one came, he most certainly didn't want any flowers, so there would be no flowers. One glance and she knew that Lady Smallwood blamed her and she couldn't hold it against her, it took her one look at Sherlock to know just how much she relied on Mycroft to look after him. One conversations was necessary for her to realize just how much Mycroft did, that he not only ruled the government, but that he has been protecting Sherlock since he was a child, that she in fact made a huge mistake in calling him limited, because now she realized the truth was, that she was the limited one, he was unlimited in his kindness and responsibility in looking after all of them. He was the one to make the hard decisions with Rudolph all those years ago, and she should've been there for him. Mycroft was only constraint was the limitations that his family placed on him, and that was in fact testament to their character, not his.

Standing in front of his open grave, she cried, not only for losing her son, but for not seeing the truth when she had a chance, for not realizing the facts when she was supposed to. She cried for the grief at not telling him, he was forgiven, for not being the mom she was supposed to be. She cried for the guilt in knowing he died, under the impression he was despised by all of them, they played their part in that, she cried because even though he died with the idea that he wasn't good enough, she cried because she was responsible for that idea, she was responsible for hurting her son so much that he chose death over them, she knew it wasn't a random attack, that he could've prevented it, if he wanted to. He didn't because he tried to get back some respect, some forgiveness for his actions and decisions that was never his to make. It was hers, and her husband, and the wrong person paid a debt he was never in debt for.

She looked at her living son, the pain in his eyes, the sorrow and the guilt that he was carrying as well. _"I understand. I will wait patiently for the day we can be a proper family again."_ He understood the day he said those words it would never happen, and he still said it to comfort his parents, to comfort her, so she didn't had to carry that guilt, and that in all likelihood filled her with more guilt and grief. He asked for forgiveness and she didn't give it to him, and she never asked for forgiveness, yet he gave it to her.


	7. Chapter 7

So I thought I should try a Euros reaction. I struggled and then when I was in work in a company meeting this little piece happened. i guess the company I work for releasesthe inner Euros in me ; )

Anyway. I hope you enjoy it and I'll post the real last chapterlater today.

 **Fading out**

 **Down to two**

 **Euros**

The door opened and two guards came in, they were each carrying a chair, and my heart rate increase Mummy, Dad and my brothers are coming. They come once a week. Mummy and Dad and Mycroft would sit and listen and Sherlock would play for me.

I would play for him.

We would play and we would say everything words couldn't but our music could.

I frowned. Two chairs, why is there two chairs?

This is interesting enough to get up from the bed, I walked towards the glass, they put down the chairs and without looking at me they walk out.

Interesting.

I tilt my head as ideas run through my head. It used to be difficult, but it's getting better.

Maybe Mummy is ill, no she was in fine health, and she wouldn't miss seeing me.

Dad, he looked a bit off the other day, tired, no, he would make sure to be here; after all I'm his little girl, back from the dead.

Mycroft...

Aaah, my dear older brother.

Some emergency somewhere, after all he is always trying to save or rule the free world. Trying to do the right thing. He failed me so he tries to compensate for the rest.

I should've told him he didn't fail me. I just never participated in the class.

The door opened and Mummy and Dad enter with Sherlock behind them.

Something is off.

The air around them is dark, sullen, sombre and sad.

Very sad.

Not sad for me though

 _"I'm sorry, goodbye."_

Oh Mycroft.

What have you done?

They sat down; Dad was holding Mummy's hand tight in his. She glanced at him, she tried to smile but it failed. Just like Mycroft.

Sherlock stood in his usual place in front of the mirror. His posture were rigid, more so than last time.

Why are you pretending so hard to keep it together my dearest brother?

 _"I'm sorry, goodbye."_

Mycroft! What the hell did you do? Next time I see you, just wait…what? Sherlock is turning his head to our parents, his eyes reminding me of a waterfall falling and crashing down below. The unsteady maelstrom of the water trying to makes sense of what is what. He gave them a small nod and started to play.

The violin broke down in tears, every musical note a tear falling down the ground. Sherlock was breaking apart and the only thing keeping him together was the strings. Why?

 _"I'm sorry, goodbye."_

Oh no. He is dead. Mycroft is dead. He planned it, yet didn't commit suicide, oh….oh… he wanted to die, but he didn't want to do it himself. He would have, but then an opportunity arose. One last act to try and pass the test only he was aware. He tried so hard to make us all pass, to keep us all together, to keep us all standing but just like the song 'we all fall down.' I wonder if he succeeded, I wonder if he managed to save us all with his death. Did he manage to pass us? Most of all I wondered if he passed himself. Did he keep himself together, with the falling of us? He always tried so hard, but no one knew, I wonder if they knew now.

I couldn't help it, I cried with him, my violin screamed with his into the melody. I could see the emotions in Sherlock's eyes. I could see how he desperately tries to stay strong to be the big brother he needs to be now. He is the oldest and he wasn't ready. Mummy had new lines on her face, her eyes held a new cup of darkness she was forced to drink. Dad is trying to find the broken pieces and I don't know if it from old age or pain? Which one is pain? A loud sob broke through our song, Mummy's shoulders were shaking, Dad put his arm around her. I looked back at Sherlock.

His eyes were closed, tracks of tears marking his face as we played.

Oh.

That one is pain.


	8. Chapter 8

**Fading out**

 **More than just a handler**

 **Greg**

It was already quite dark and late in the day when the knock came to his door. Greg was relaxing with a good book and some comfortable jeans and shirt when he was interrupted. He looked up when the knock came, a small frown on his forehead as he stood up and made his way to the door. He wasn't in the mood for much company tonight, and the company he usually get is either door to door sales or a case.

"Hell..ooo." His voice trailed of seeing his guests, this was quite unexpected. He stared at Anthea before he turned to Lady Smallwood, he recognized her from the newspapers. Lady Smallwood gave him a small smile.

"Detective Inspector, I know it is quite late, but may have a moment of your time?"

"Oh yes, of course, please come on in." He held the door for them to enter and locked it behind them before he led them to his small living room.

"Please make yourself at home, it's not much, but it is comfortable." Anthea sat on the edge of the three-seater, her hands folded in her lap, Greg looked a bit worried but sat down lower on the sofa as well. Lady Smallwood sat on the single, a bit more relaxed than Anthea. Greg eyed them both.

"Why do I get the feeling that this conversation needs something stronger than tea?" Anthea smiled briefly before she caught herself smiling and straightened her face. Lady Smallwood looked down to her hands before she turned to him.

"Do you have something stronger than tea?" Greg narrowed his eyes, darting between the two women before he stood up and walked to the kitchen, he came back with a full bottle of whiskey and three glasses. He put it on the table, opening the bottle with his hands while looking at them.

"This is a bit worrisome, just so you know...I feel like I have to prepare myself for something big." They didn't reply as he poured them each a glass. Anthea lifted hers and drank it on all in one sip.

"Okay, forget worrisome, this is getting scary. What is going on?" His voice was losing that openness, that softness, he looked at Lady Smallwood.

"Don't get me wrong, you are welcome here, but Anthea I know, you I've hardly met, and now both of you is here is in my house, and you who are practically surgical attached to Mycroft aren't here..." His eyes opened, he licked his lips.

"...Anthea...Mycroft...is he okay?" He asked softly, his sole attention on her, ignoring Lady Smallwood. She took the opportunity to look at him, the one Mycroft trusted, probably the only man he trusted if he allowed him to look after Sherlock. He gave him half of all his money, the man who made such an impression that Mycroft asked how a man like this can be. He was handsome, she would admit, and he was open to read, he didn't try to hide anything, to play mind games, he was sincere in his dealings and Mycroft was right, it was refreshing.

She picked up her glass and drank the liquid.

"Detective..."

"Greg, please." She nodded.

"Mycroft Holmes died today." She watched as the emotions ran across his eyes, unbelief, doubt, surprise, uncertainty pain, the worry and the concern, his eyes turned darker as it filled with tears. She waited for the usual responses, the 'it's not true', and the 'you're lying' or the dramatic 'no' Sherlock yelled, instead none came. He reached his hand and took hold of Anthea's folded hands in her lap, his one hand nearly covering both of hers, she wanted to stop him, tell him Anthea doesn't like that but to her surprise Anthea allowed it.

His voice was soft, filled with sorrow.

"Anthea?" The question of is true was loud in her name. Anthea looked down and swallowed, her head bobbed up and down twice. Greg squeezed her hands softly before he looked down.

"Oh God no." He uttered to the floor as his free hand rub across his face. He looked at her.

"Does Sherlock know?" Lady Smallwood nodded.

"He was informed this afternoon, before we came here." Greg closed his eyes, he would need to check on him, make sure he isn't relapsing. Shit. Bloody hell. He looked up to the two women.

"What happened?"

"He was killed while on duty. I cannot divulge..."

"I'm not talking about that, I don't care about that, I care about Mycroft, what happened to him?" Greg interrupted her; she took a breath before answering her hands fidgeting with the glass in her hand.

"He was caught by shrapnel from a car bomb." Greg's mouth fell open before he closed it sharply, he looked away, and she could see he was trying to keep from either crying or yelling.

"Where was his security? Why didn't anyone do anything? You always took stuff like this into account, he especially anticipates everything and takes the necessary steps, and his plan A has a plan A to Z, so that his plan B, why didn't anyone..." His voice got louder before he stopped, his mouth open and eyes wide. He looked to her.

"He did it on purpose didn't he?" Anthea opened her eyes in shock, so did Lady Smallwood, they glances at each other and Greg knew he was right.

"He did! Bastard!" He exclaimed as he jumped up from the seat, he started pacing the floor his pain making way for his anger.

"Of course he did, he still felt guilty didn't he? Trying to what...makes things right? Save an agent's life? Only he would do that, I know about what he tried to do at the prison, with Sherlock and John, what does he think he is, some martyr dying for the greater bloody good?...What are we supposed to do? Accept it? Move on? How...the bloody bastard..." He started strong but lost momentum as he went on, until he stopped at the window overlooking the street, he trailed of, his voice slowly cracking. Lady Smallwood and Anthea stared at him, he got it right, he voiced their feelings too, Anthea felt proud at Greg in that moment, once again proving himself to be more than what he was credit for, he was living to prove people wrong about underestimation.

"I failed." Both women looked up at that and turned to him, his one arm was resting against the wall, his body leaning into it. They didn't understood. Anthea stood up and walked to him.

"What do you mean?" Greg looked straight ahead as he answered.

"Sherlock asked me to look after him, and I did, I met with him that night, made sure he ate and got home safe, I send him texts, I tried to get through to him, to make sure he was okay and he assured me he was fine, that he was taking time off work and we would talk when he get back...I should've know...bloody Holmes..."

Anthea grabbed his shoulder.

"You didn't fail! If you did, so did we, and we can't think like that, the guilt will ruin us."

"So we wash our hands of him? Give ourselves a pat on the shoulder going, did good lad, you did good? We didn't do good, we should've done better. He is dead Anthea; he is never going to kidnap me to shady warehouses for dramatic effect to check on his brother, he is never going to walk down the street twirling that umbrella as if he owned the place. He will never stare us down, tilting his head and order us to look after Sherlock." Greg's voice was half hoarse; he was having a difficult time with this. Anthea let of his shoulder and turned away, he stopped her. She was right, ultimately, once a Holmes gets an idea he is too stubborn to back down, he tried to smile at her reassuringly.

"Anthea, we did well with what we had, and you're right, we didn't fail, not really and I want you to know I am so sorry for your loss." He knew Mycroft was her mentor, and in some way a friend, just like he was to Greg, from all the people in the world, the two of them understood the loss of losing someone like Mycroft in their lives.

Lady Smallwood looked away, giving them their private moment, they were loyal to him, because they cared, because they were somehow his friends, not because he owed them, or bought them. She didn't understood initially why Mycroft thought it was going to be difficult to get him to accept the money, it was a huge amount, but now seeing him, she understood, everything in this man is going to push against accepting it, she will just have to find a way.

He went to the funeral, he even wore his best suit, the special 'weddings and funeral only' one. He even went to get a haircut the previous day; he wanted to look his best for the man he respected the most. He stood alone at the grave, his eyes watching the rest. Anthea stood next to Lady Smallwood about a step behind her, her eyes were staring at the coffin. John stood by Sherlock and his parents. His father was holding his mum in an embrace, she had been crying, but then again, she is burying her child. Greg thought it was ironic, first she buried her youngest, then her middle child, all fake and not real - she didn't know about Euros till recently but still - now she is burying her eldest, for real. They say you shouldn't play with fire, that you shouldn't tempt fate, Sherlock did, Euros did and Mycroft is the one to pay. He was always the one to pay. He sighed, he really hate irony sometimes. Sherlock is taking it hard, he could see it, and Greg felt a stab of fear that he might start using again.

He looked at John, he hoped John would be enough to keep him from using, he frowned, John is looking very tired and exhausted, as if he is carrying some guilt. Oh yes… He remember what he said that night when he told Sherlock what Euros did to Mycroft, what goes around comes around he commented, Greg just walked away. He probably has to keep an eye on him too, damn; he is like the god-uncle keeping an eye on the kids. The funeral was over and he looked at the grave, not a single bloody flower. Mycroft always said 'no flowers' Bastard.

He left after Lady Smallwood and Anthea, Sherlock was still standing there with his parents, and Greg wondered why Lady Smallwood didn't even try to talk to Mycroft's parents beside the universal nod of acknowledgment. She blamed them, he saw the video, the inheritance, and it was the only he would accept the money. He left and drove around for about an hour, when he made up his mind and stopped at the store. Buying what he needed he went back to the cemetery. It was empty, everyone was gone. Taking the item he walked down the path to where he was earlier that day. The grave was closed and they stone on top. It was similar to the one Sherlock had, black and sleek and plain with his name. Greg looked around before he grouched down and dug a small hole.

"You know, I think it is time we are honest, I was your bloody handler...but like I told Sherlock, I just don't do what you tell me so there." Greg dusted his hands and looked at his handy word; next to the stone he planted a small cactus.

"I didn't really take you for the shiny, frilly flowery type anyhow, but a plant yes, actually a tree with roots deep in the earth and branches in the sky, just like you hand your fingers in pies all over the world, but your roots were here." With Sherlock he mentally added.

"I couldn't find you a tree in the shop, except bonsai, I'll see, maybe I'll buy you one later on, just to spite you, right now, I feel like you are a cactus, all thorny and a pain in the arse." Greg took a breath and stood there for a while. It was getting late.

"I have to go, have to get some rest if I'm going to look after Sherlock; he is going to need all the help he can get. I'll see you around and I will bring you that bonsai..."


End file.
